


Brighter Than A Shooting Star

by ax100



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Young Victor Nikiforov, a bunch of other characters get mentioned but aren't really involved, blast from the past i guess, we're talkin 2007 victor here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 12:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18476716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ax100/pseuds/ax100
Summary: Moscow, January 2007On the eve of Nationals, Viktor receives a special gift.(Or, how Viktor got his gold skates.)





	Brighter Than A Shooting Star

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hi hello! Ax here. Yes, I'm still alive, despite not having posted in almost a year to the day! Things have been super busy since I last posted. Started a new job a few months ago, been traveling, been playing a lot of D&D (lol). 
> 
> Anyway, I was writing again after what seems like forever, and I SUDDENLY REALIZED that I have THIS FIC which I wrote TWO YEARS AGO and NEVER POSTED. It's literally been sitting on my hard drive since 2017, finished, and unposted. Because I was too scared, I guess? I felt like it wasn't good enough to show people? I don't know.
> 
> Well, now I'm showing it! And okay, maybe the ship has sailed on the YOI fandom, but I'm late to the party, nothing new there lol. Just putting this up for anyone who might enjoy it.
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this because I always found myself wondering about Viktor's gold skates. What's the story behind those? Did he buy those? Were they a gift? I also took it as an opportunity to explore Viktor's character a bit more. My memory is hazy since it's been literal years since I've watched YOI, but I remember my primary reaction to Viktor being 'eh'. I finished the series feeling like I didn't have a good grasp on him and his character. I, as an audience member, felt like I knew nothing about Viktor. (Though I realize now that it might have been because the series was in Yuuri's POV.) In any case, I wanted to get to know Viktor more, and what better way to do that than to get right in his shoes?
> 
> This fic, I remember, took me quite a bit of time and effort to write. I did a LOT of research, especially about the ISU's 2006-2007 season and Christmas in Russia (I somehow STILL have the screenshots to prove it), but if I fudged a few details here and there, please excuse me.
> 
>  **Some details to know:**  
>  _Dec 14-17, 2006_ \- Grand Prix Final (St. Petersburg, Russia)  
>  _January 4-7, 2007_ \- Russian Nationals (held at Moscow)  
>  _January 7_ \- Christmas, in accordance with the Eastern Orthodox Church calendar (Russia as a whole celebrates Christmas on this day, rather than December 25, which is Viktor's birthday)  
>  _Jan 22-28, 2007_ \- European Championships (Poland)  
>  _Feb 7-10, 2007_ \- Four Continents (USA)  
>  _March 20-25, 2007_ \- World Championships (Japan)
> 
>  
> 
> Nina is a character of my own creation, as is Viktor's personal history here. Title is taken from Owl City's song, which I was listening to a lot while writing this.
> 
> Anyway, enough yammering from me. Hope you enjoy!

**_Moscow  
January 2007_ **

“Vitya!” Even in the din of the market, Viktor heard her voice loud and clear, like a blade cutting through ice. He looked round, and saw her standing a few paces away. She was bouncing on her tip-toes, her hand raised above her head to get his attention. He pushed through the crowd to get to her.

“Nina!” he called out to her as they came together in an embrace. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

She wasn’t much shorter than him, but he still found himself leaning down as she held his face in her hands and kissed his cheeks. “Oh, it’s been far too long since we last saw each other,” she said as she leaned back to get a good look at him.

“It’s only been a few months.” He raised an eyebrow at her in amusement. “But you see me plenty on TV, I’m sure.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes as her hands fell away from his face and settled on her hips. “How do you skate so beautifully with that big head of yours?”

“Beautifully, is it?”

She abruptly turned her back to him and started walking away. “So, the bazaar this year is quite nice." Viktor followed her, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Russia in the Christmastime was quite a sight to behold. The fluttering snow and blankets of white that cushioned the streets served as the perfect backdrop to festive bazaars all throughout the country—pockets of bright lights, throngs of lively people, the sights and sounds of celebration. The energy that permeated the air at Christmas markets seemed to be different somehow; it was charged with excitement and a certain playfulness that was markedly absent any other time of year.

As a child, going to the Christmas bazaar had been one of Viktor’s favorite activities. He would excitedly wait for them to pop up every year, and year after year, his grandparents would bring him and his sister without fail. What made them even better was that they happened around the time of Viktor’s birthday, and for a few years, his grandfather actually had him convinced that they were being held in honor of him, like extended birthday parties.

That was a long time ago, of course, and Viktor found himself actually struggling to remember the last time he actually had the luxury of being able to aimlessly meander around markets such as these. They always occurred in a tight spot between the Grand Prix and the Russian Nationals, which didn’t allow Viktor much free time, if at all.

For tonight, though, he had made free time. Had especially requested that they go to a bazaar, even. Perhaps to relive a simpler time in his life. But of that, he couldn’t really be sure.

 

~~~

 

“I’d forgotten how busy Moscow is,” he commented after muttering yet another quick apology to a stranger whose shoulder he had bumped into.

“I think most of these people came to watch the Nationals though,” Nina commented as she looked around. “Does St. Petersburg not have these bazaars?”

“It’s a busy time. I don’t usually get to go.”

“Yakov works you to the bone,” she laughed. “You should get him a Christmas gift.”

They didn’t get far before Viktor was recognized by two overexcited girls, whose high-pitched tittering attracted the attention of other passersby, many of whom also stopped to gather around him. After what seemed like an eternity of taking photos, making small talk, accepting well wishes and autographing everything from paper napkins to someone’s arm, Viktor finally managed to tear himself away from the small crowd that had gathered. He spotted his sister standing off to the side, a smirk on her sharp features. She was holding a fresh cup of mulled wine, translucent wisps of steam rising from the top. Considering how long the lines were, he had kept her waiting for quite a while.

“Russia’s Shooting Star,” she said, her tone teasing. She didn’t seem angry to have been kept waiting long, at least, and he couldn’t help but feel relieved at that.

He plucked the cup out of her hand and took a sip. “If that’s what they’re calling me now,” he said as she grabbed it back from him. They began walking again.

“A shooting star, hm?” he began, his expression thoughtful. “A bright star, coming out of nowhere, racing through the darkness, blazing its own trail, giving people hope, making their wishes come true…” he recited dreamily. The lights that dangled from the awning of the booths lent an ethereal quality to the blues of his eyes, almost seemed to make them twinkle. He grinned at her. “It’s quite an apt description, isn’t it!”

She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Spare me the humility, Vitya,” she groaned, but gave him a smug look. “Although you forgot to mention that shooting stars are just space debris catching fire as they fall through the Earth’s atmosphere.”

He gave an exaggerated gasp, his face contorted in mock hurt. He put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Nina.”

She laughed, but the mirth soon fell away, replaced by a soft gaze, a small smile. “Good luck tomorrow, Брати. I can’t wait to see how you wow the crowd this time.”

“Спасибо,” he answered simply, leaving it unsaid how happy he was that she’d be there to watch. He knew she knew; there was no need to say it aloud.

The two of them made their way through the market, commenting every so often on things that caught their attention, making easy conversation in between. They stopped at a booth selling handicrafts at Nina’s insistence, but Viktor did find himself enamored with a cute but elaborate set of matryoshka dolls, the biggest of which nestled into his palm quite comfortably, while the smallest couldn’t have been any bigger than a bean. Each doll depicted the same character in different styles of dress.

He turned to his sister and waved it in her direction. “Doesn’t it remind you of Babushka?”

Nina gave it a cursory glance but seemed disinterested, caught up in comparing two lacquered serving trays. “Not really?”

“She had many outfits, a new one each time we saw her.”

“You have so many of those already,” she said, still preoccupied.

“I’m getting it,” he announced almost indignantly, like a petulant child.

“I think Yakov would like this one,” she declared, putting the other tray back on the display. Viktor looked over her shoulder to see it.

“Yakov wouldn’t have an opinion on these kinds of things.” He reached over Nina and grabbed the rejected tray. “Lilia would like this one more.”

“Oh,” was all she said in return. “Let’s get it then!”

Viktor smiled at her like she had said something greatly amusing. “Are you kidding me? No way am I going to carry this heavy thing for the rest of the night!” He quickly put it back and marched over to the owner of the stall.

“And that?” Nina cocked her eyebrow at the matryoshka doll that was peeking out of Viktor’s coat pocket. He was fishing bills out of his wallet.

“It’s different,” was the only explanation he gave.

 

~~~

 

Not too far from the handicrafts stall was a line of booths where people could play carnival games. Nina wasn’t particularly interested in them, but Viktor had quickly latched onto her wrist and tugged her along the booth of a shooting game before she could say anything.

For the most part, she contented herself with watching him try, and fail, and waste his money. They used to be big fans of these kinds of games when they were kids, she remembered. Viktor’s aim had always been terrible, really. But now, those days were distant memories. Seeing Viktor, now a young man— _now a national and international figure skating champion_ —sticking his tongue out in concentration as he took aim, like he was eight years old again and she was ten, was a surreal experience, if not a jarring one.

It was at that moment that a child who couldn’t have been any more than twelve strode up next to Viktor, shot a round of perfect bullseyes, and walked away with a giant stuffed bear. This did not escape Viktor’s attention, of course, and Nina prepared herself for the worst.

Viktor turned to her, his eyes worryingly glassy, his mouth upturned in a quivering pout. “Сестричка…” he practically whimpered.

Nina couldn’t help rolling her eyes, but came and relieved him of the toy gun anyway. “Yes, yes, big sister is here.” She leaned down on the railing, closed one of her eyes and took aim. “Some things never change, do they?”

One round of bullseyes later, a staff member moved to get one of the stuffed bears, similar to what the child from before got, but Viktor protested.

“ _Nyet, nyet!_ The dog one, please.”

“It looks like Makkachin,” Nina commented as Viktor opened his arms to receive the large plush doll.

“It does, doesn’t it?” he replied, looking as happy as a kid on Christmas as he hugged the stuffed toy.

“Such a simpleton…” she muttered, shaking her head, but her tone was fond.

 

~~~ 

 

Since their mobility had now been considerably decreased due to the sheer size of the plush doll, they decided that perhaps it would be best to sit down somewhere. It started to snow as they made their way out of the bazaar and down the streets of Moscow.

They ducked into a small, cozy café with a view of the river from the window. The interior was warm, melting the tiny ice crystals that had formed on their scarves and hats. The air was filled with the scent of coffee and vanilla, accompanied by quiet chatter that didn’t quite drown out the sound of soft, piped-in piano music. The place was surprisingly full—it seemed like many other customers had come from the Christmas market too, as many of the tables were littered with disposable food containers and plastic utensils. Some of the kids were holding bags of candy and other items that were clearly prizes from the carnival games. Viktor and Nina took the only free table, tucked in a corner towards the back of the café.

“Are you hungry?” she asked as she shed her coat and draped it on the back of her chair.

“Not really. I’ll just have a brewed coffee,” he replied, doing the same before sitting down. Nina nodded and went to line up.

She returned a few minutes later with a tray holding two steaming cups, just in time to witness Viktor positioning the plush toy on a third chair. It couldn’t sit up on its own, but when pinned between the chair’s back and the edge of the marble table, the stuffed dog came up to around the height of a seated child. Nina took her seat, pushing the cup holding brewed coffee towards Viktor, along with two packets of sugar.

His eyes seemed to sparkle as he saw this. “You still remember how I take my coffee,” he commented, almost as if in awe.

She fixed him with a skeptical look over the rim of her own cup. “I’m not that old to forget something as simple as that.”

Viktor threw his head back and laughed, his lips stretching out to form that famous heart-shaped smile of his. “I meant no disrespect, Ninochka.” When he looked back at her again, the look in his eyes was soft, fond. But when he spoke, there was an undertone of sadness. “I just didn’t think you’d remember, considering how long I’ve been away.”

They sipped their coffee in silence for a while, and Nina took the opportunity to check her phone.

“Dimitriy just landed. He says sorry that he’s not around to meet you,” she spoke up, her eyes scanning the text on the screen.

He took a sip from his cup before replying, “Tell him I’ll see him at the wedding soon enough.”

She huffed out a chuckle as she kept her phone away. “Before that as well, preferably. His family is getting increasingly insistent on meeting you before the wedding.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe in April.”

She wrinkled her nose at that. “Is that really the earliest you can come?”

He gave another deceptively innocent smile—his trademark. “Unless you don’t want me to make it to the World Championships!”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re that confident about getting in, huh?”

“You wouldn’t expect anything less from Russia’s Shooting Star, would you?” he shot right back, getting a bemused huff in return.

“You talk a lot of shit, Viktor Nikiforov,” Nina declared, shifting to another position on her seat. “Just haul your ass here to Moscow as soon as you lose.”

His eyes widened. “You don’t think that’s actually going to happen, do you?!” he despairingly cried out.

“What?! No, дурак!” she retorted, accidentally bringing her hand down to the table too hard. The resulting bang grabbed the attention of some of the other customers behind her. She glanced at them apologetically and turning back to Viktor, saying in a much lower voice this time, “Of course not, stupid. You’re going to win the World Championships, just like you’re going to be kissing that gold medal by the end of Nationals this week. I’m sure of it.”

At that, his face to an expression of barely concealed glee, his eyes wide and twinkling, like that was exactly what he had wanted to hear.

Knowing him, he had probably orchestrated the situation just so.

“Okay, now stop fishing for compliments and let’s get out of here,” she said as she stood up and gathered her coat.

He made a confused noise, not making any move to get up. “It’s still early though. The event doesn’t start until late afternoon tomorrow.”

“I’m aware,” she answered, retying her scarf. “We can still have dinner in your area. There’s just something I need to give you.”

“You can’t give it here?”

“The press would have a field day if I did. I’ll drive you back to your hotel and give it there.”

That certainly surprised him. He slowly started to gather his things as well, but he couldn’t help but take a barb at her. “My dear sister, what kind of scandalous gift are you planning to give me that you can’t present it in a public space?”

She flushed, but didn’t lose her composure. “It’s nothing as vulgar as whatever you’re thinking about. I just don’t want you to embarrass yourself. You’ll thank me later on.”

Outside the café, it seemed like the snow hadn’t let up at all since it started—in fact, it seemed to have gotten stronger. The streets were now covered in a thin layer of white, scuffed up here and there by footprints that revealed the frozen pavement underneath. Nina’s car was parked in a small side street not too far from the café.

“Do you remember when we were kids,” Viktor started as they brushed off the snow that had settled onto the windshield. His thoughts seemed to be far away. “We used to have snowball fights all the time.”

“Yeah,” Nina replied wistfully as she unlocked the car doors with the remote. The turn lights flashed twice, accompanied with a high-pitched beep.

“I always won,” Viktor said as he ducked inside the passenger’s side. The statement made Nina stop.

“Oh dear brother, your memory is starting to fail you already, is it?” she asked him as she closed the door and started up the car. Warm air immediately blasted out of the vents. “If I remember correctly, _I_ was the one who won most of those snowball fights.”

“Really?” he sounded out skeptically as she pulled out of the parking space. “That’s not how I remember it at all.”

“Well, do you remember how Dedushka would dress up as Ded Moroz on New Year’s? You’d cry every single year, without fail.” She grinned and snickered at the memory.

“Only until I was five!” He spluttered out indignantly.

“Only because he stopped.”

Viktor, so rarely lost for words, couldn’t even make a proper comeback.

They pulled up to a stoplight. Silence sat between them for a while, only marred by the low humming of the engine. It was Nina who broke it.

“You’ve been away from home for quite long now, haven’t you, Vitya?”

He thought back on it, on the time that he finally packed his bags and officially moved to St. Petersburg. His whole family had accompanied him that time—his mother, his sister, his grandfather. He remembered them helping him move his things into his new room, and the strange feeling he got in his gut when he realized that he was probably never going to return to his hometown.

He remembered bringing them to the rink that he would now call his home. He had asked Yakov if he could use the rink before training hours even began, something that his coach, to this very day, insisted was a fever dream because Viktor would never, _ever_ ask if he could come in _early_. But he had. In the early morning light, he skated for them, a completely impromptu work, and he remembered the tears in his grandfather’s eyes when he realized Viktor had chosen to skate to his late grandmother’s favorite song.

He remembered the day they had to go back to Vologda. He had hugged each of them tightly, assuring them that he would be okay, that he’d come visit as soon as he got the chance. His mother was crying like she knew that it wouldn’t happen. His spirit broke, though, when his grandfather held his hands and told him, “I am so proud of you, Vitya.”

He remembered the Herculean task of fighting back tears that threatened the spill from the moment his grandfather said those words. He remembered the relief at finally letting them out as soon as the train pulled out of the station.

He remembered that exact moment, and in vivid detail too—crying in the middle of St. Petersburg Station at 15 years old, so far from home, from his loved ones, in a place where he didn’t know anyone, scared and alone.

 

“Vitya?” Nina’s voice brought him back to the present. She glanced at him with a quizzical look, but had to keep her eyes on the road, since the traffic was now moving.

Viktor blinked owlishly, a bit taken aback that he had zoned out. “Yes, um…it’s been 5 years now.”

“We should visit soon. Dedushka only has a few more years left in him, you know,” she said in a way that made it clear that by ‘ _we_ ,’ she really meant ‘ _you_.’ Viktor knew that Nina went back home quite often, whereas he hadn’t gone back even _once_ since moving to St. Petersburg.

He looked out the window, feeling the uncomfortable prickle of shame.

“By the way,” Nina started. “How’s Yuliya?”

Viktor stiffened, and didn’t immediately reply. “We’re, ah…not together anymore,” he eventually said, still looking out the window.

“Oh.” She didn’t sound surprised. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

He sighed, and shifted in his seat. “There’s not really much to talk about. We had different priorities. It was bound to happen.”

Nina gave a non-committal hum—neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “’It’s okay, you’ll meet the right person someday.” As robotic as the words were, he could tell they were sincere.

“You believe in those kinds of things, do you?” he teased.

She flashed an irritated glare at him. “You don’t believe me? You’ll see. One day, someone will stroll into your life and you’ll wonder where they’ve been all this time. And you’ll suddenly find yourself doing all sorts of crazy things just to keep them by your side.”

“Ah, what a romantic,” he commented, leering at her now. “Who are you and what has Dimitriy done with my sister?”

She reached over and punched him lightly on the arm. “Heed my word, Viktor Nikiforov!” she warned, then muttered, “Of the rare times I actually try to be a big sister…”

He laughed and leaned back in his chair, looking out the window again. Silence settled between them once more, as the lights of the cityscape passed them by.

“I wonder if that will happen to me though,” he mumbled.

“Hm?”

“If I’ll really find someone like that.” He tried to pass it off as just another fleeting topic, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of _worry_ in his voice.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He took a moment to reflect on the common thread that tied his past break-ups together. “Well, they always said I was too focused on my career.”

“And are you willing to yield in that regard?” she asked, turning a corner again.

“I…No,” he answered. His eyes were still focused on the world outside. “Skating is everything to me. Pushing the limit, surprising the audience…nothing can compare to how precious those things are to me.” He paused, weighing his words. “I…can’t say I’ve been the best at maintaining my relationships. But if you ask me if I would change myself for them, I can’t say that I would. I want to go as far as I can, for as long as possible.”

“So speaks the Shooting Star,” she supplied. “No wonder your lovers could never keep up with you. You’re an ambitious one.”

“Is it a bad thing?” He asked, looking at her. There was a certain edge to his voice now.

“Of course not. Don’t be sour about it,” Nina said coolly. “Though with the way you are, the only person who’d be willing to put up with that would be someone who completely understands your situation.”

“A skater?”

“Or a saint.”

“I liked you better when you were trying to be a big sister,” he said before crossing his arms and looking away.

Neither of them spoke a word for the rest of the car ride.

They soon arrived at the area where Viktor’s hotel was located. Nina had barely even finished parking when Viktor wordlessly grabbed the stuffed dog from the backseat and exited the car, his movements slow and steady to an almost calculated extent. Nina sighed as she popped the trunk open from the inside.

To the two of them who had been in a heated car for the past 20 minutes, the air outside felt even colder than it had before—or perhaps it was the tension that still hung between them. Viktor stood underneath the street lamp, watching the cars sail by on the main road, as Nina went to collect her parcel from the trunk—the gift she had prepared for him.

“Vitya,” she called out to him. He made a sound of acknowledgement but still stood with his back to her.

“You’re just twenty. Even if you’re middle-aged in terms of skating, you’re still really young, you know.” She closed the trunk as he gave her a questioning look, his brow creased. She approached him, a large paper shopping bag hanging from the crook of her elbow.

“Don’t worry about it. It will definitely happen. Someone special will come along, maybe when you least expect it, maybe even in a way you never could have imagined.” She grasped his upper arm, squeezing gently. “After all, you like surprises, don’t you?”

That seemed to quell whatever bad thoughts he had still been harboring, and his lips slowly curled up into a smile. “I love them.”

The walk to the hotel wasn’t long at all, and by the time they got to the entrance, they were back to their usual banter. The moment they came into the lobby, however, a throng of reporters and fans swarmed around Viktor like moths to flame. Viktor, of course, was nothing but gracious, and fielded questions with practiced ease as he signed autograph after autograph. Nina settled down into a plush armchair and waited for him to finish.

“Mr. Nikiforov! There are high expectations of you this year after your stellar performance at last year’s National Championships that earned you third place, as well as your impressive track record in the previous season overall. What can your fans expect from you this season?”

“Of course, I’d like to say ‘a collection of gold medals’ but it’s anyone’s game, as it always has been. I try to approach every competition with an open mind and always strive to give my best performance, which is how I plan to approach this season as well. I will work hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations in that regard.”

“You made quite a name for yourself back in the Junior division, and have only been in the Senior circuit for one season. How are you holding up in the atmosphere here compared to Juniors?”

“Oh yes, it’s quite different here, but Juniors are no less competitive. I can tell you that many of the skaters in the Junior division will make quite the ruckus once they start their Senior career. Everyone should keep their eye on them.”

“Mr. Nikiforov! Many people have found your originality, creativity, and innovation to be unparalleled in the sport; they’ve even started referring to you as Russia’s Shooting Star. What are your thoughts on this?”

He chuckled. “I’m flattered that the people of Russia think so highly of me, but my only wish has always just been for people to feel good when they watch me perform. Anything else is a pleasant surprise.”

It was only after 15 minutes or so that the crowd looked to have visibly thinned; it seemed like most of the reporters had gotten what they had wanted to hear already, and most of the people still left behind were fans who were hoping to speak with him longer. Nina faintly heard him excuse himself, and she looked up from her phone to see him approaching.

“Done?” she asked, just for good measure. He nodded and she stood up, picking the paper bag off the floor. As she followed him to the elevators, she felt people’s eyes on her back, could hear some of them whispering to each other, wondering who she was. Fortunately, some of his savvier fans seemed to be aware that she was his sister—how, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Viktor was billeted at one of the higher floors, where many of the bigger rooms were located, and when he opened the door, Nina gave a low whistle as she stepped inside.

“Flying high, aren’t we?” she commented as she looked around. Behind her, Viktor closed the door and flicked the lock closed. Her eyes landed on the bed. “There’s no reason why your bed needs to be that large.”

“Are you sure about that?” he shot back _way_ too nonchalantly.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to know.”

“So,” he chirped, stepping past her and taking a seat on the bed, gracefully crossing one leg over the other. He rested his clasped hands on his thigh and looked at her expectantly. “You said you have something to give me?”

She rolled her eyes, albeit affectionately, and presented the shopping bag to him. “I might have said something like that.”

He took it from her and reached inside, pulling out a large cardboard shoebox, plain white and nondescript. He gave her a questioning glance as he settled it on the bed next to him. He lifted the lid to reveal layers of rice paper folded over each other. There was a cautious deftness to the movements of his fingers as he carefully, _oh so carefully,_ peeled the paper back.

Viktor gasped, a hand flying to his mouth.

 _“Oh...”_ he breathed out, the same hand now sliding down to settle on his chest. “Oh, Nina…”

Inside the box was a beautiful pair of skates. The matte finish of the black leather reflected the lights above him in a soft, dispersed shine. With a feather-light touch, his fingertips ghosted over the surface of the boots, tracing over edges and seams in an almost reverent manner, almost like touching a lover for the first time. He could feel the slightly rough texture of the leather; his fingers slid over every single bump, every single curve, like he wanted to commit them all to memory. He trailed down to the blades, the smooth metal cool to the touch, and he ran his finger down the line where the metal disappeared into the rubber guards, a shadow of what he seemed to want to do, had the sharp edges been bared to his touch. They glinted bright gold in the dim light of the room, like a guiding star in the night sky. Past the blades, bolted on the heel of the boot, was a plate depicting the flag of Russia.

“They’re beautiful,” he whispered into the still air of the room, where it sounded volumes louder, felt tonnes heavier. He turned to face his sister, a steady stream of tears trickling down his ruddy cheeks. “Nina, they’re beautiful.”

“Now aren’t you glad that I didn’t give these to you in the café?” she teased with no real mirth behind the words. The mattress springs creaked quietly as she sat next to him on the bed. “I’m glad you like them.” Her tone now was soft, gentle. “I had always wanted to get you a pair. It would’ve been the perfect gift for your senior debut, but I didn’t have the money,” she sheepishly admitted, her eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet. “Maybe a late birthday gift then? You did just turn twenty, after all. Ah, and don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to wear them tomorrow or anything. I know that these kinds of things need to be broken in and—“

She was interrupted by Viktor suddenly wrapping his arms around her midsection. The angle was a little awkward, since he was coming from her side. Nina shifted to accommodate him and return the hug, and he buried his face into her shoulder, his tears disappearing into the fabric of her coat. “Спасибо, Спасибо, Спасибо…” Viktor chanted, his voice muffled. He squeezed her tight. “I’ll wear them tomorrow.”

She smiled, and alternated between patting the back of his head and smoothing the silver hair out, something that their mother used to do for them. “You’ll do great tomorrow, Vitya,” she told him quietly. “Like…” she trailed off, like she was trying to grasp for words. “Like a bright star…”

Viktor stiffened.

“Coming out of nowhere, racing through the darkness, blazing its own trail…”

His head shot up and he gaped at her, wide-eyed, and she continued steadily, though her cheeks were now a bit pink, “Giving people hope, making their wishes come true…”

Fresh tears pooled at the corners of Viktor’s eyes as Nina said, grinning widely:

“It’s an apt description, isn’t it?”

 

~~~

 

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Viktor bent forward to receive his medal, its golden sheen matching that of his skates. He straightened up and waved to the audience as flash after flash of cameras all around the stadium went off. Somewhere in that crowd was Nina, who hadn’t wanted to attract too much attention to herself by going to the kiss and cry. Viktor was pretty sure she’d kiss him and cry over him plenty later.

He spotted Yakov standing rinkside, his arms crossed. His face was a little less grim than normal, and he was nodding to himself like a proud father. Viktor knew he’d be greeted later with a stiff one-liner of how well he’d done before being lectured on the areas of his performance that needed improvement.

He decided to forget about it for now as he reached down with his hand that wasn’t holding the bouquet and brought his medal up to his lips. The metal was smooth and cool when he kissed it, and the audience seemed to roar even louder.

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translations (if any of these are inaccurate, please let me know! I just grabbed these off Google Translate):  
> Брати - bratik / brother  
> Спасибо - spasibo / thank you  
> Сестричка - sestrichka / sister (in like a cute way? That was the tone I was going for here)  
> дурак - durak / idiot
> 
> Ded Moroz - the Russian Santa Claus, basically. His full name is Dedushka Moroz or "Grandfather Frost," and he delivers gifts to well-mannered children on New Year's Eve.
> 
> And there's the fic. Please do let me know what you think! :)


End file.
